Your Mileage May Vary
by Rocky T
Summary: Part 6 (and final segment) of "Payments" series, following "Void Where Prohibited"


_Disclaimer # 1: Star Trek Voyager and all of its characters belong to Paramount. No copyright infringement is intended._

_Disclaimer # 2: No actual shuttles were crashed or otherwise harmed in the writing of this story._

_Story Notes: Number six in the "Payments" series, following "_Void Where Prohibited_."_

**YOUR MILEAGE MAY VARY**

_If he so much as smirks, I'm going to kill him._

Chakotay cast a wary glance at Paris, but _Voyager's_ helmsman wasn't even looking in his direction, simply running through the pre-launch routine. Only slightly reassured, Chakotay turned his attention back to the control panel in front of him. 

Not for the first time, Chakotay thought back to that fateful day in the captain's ready room when this whole business had started. It had been shortly after he thought he'd settled the matter of his flying once and for all, by successfully taking out--and returning--a shuttle. Granted, it was without the captain's knowledge or permission--she'd been more than a little ticked off at him--but he'd assumed the matter was closed and they could go back to business as usual. But Janeway had had other ideas. 

"Piloting lessons?" Chakotay had said incredulously. "You're kidding, right?" 

"No, I'm not," Janeway answered. And indeed, her demeanor was as stoic as that of the Vulcan security chief sitting in the corner. 

"Why?" 

"I should think that's obvious, Chakotay." Perhaps realizing that sounded a little harsh, Janeway adopted a more conciliatory tone. "Look, Starfleet originally instituted their ban on your piloting due to your past history. I went along with it simply because there was no other alternative. But your little stunt last week proved to me that it's unreasonable of the Admiralty to curtail my options when it comes to the composition of my away teams. Or the duties to which I can assign my officers." He knew that was a real sticking point with her. 

It was on the tip of Chakotay's tongue to suggest simply ignoring the directive--after all, they were thousands of light years away from the Alpha Quadrant right now and what Starfleet didn't know surely wouldn't hurt him. But Janeway wasn't finished. 

"On the other hand, they _do_ have a point, you know." 

He gave her a wounded look. 

She sighed. "I'm sorry, Chakotay. But even you have to admit that your record with shuttles speaks for itself." 

Tuvok shifted in his seat. He had been silent until now. "You are an able officer, Commander, but as a shuttle pilot you leave much to be desired." 

Janeway plowed doggedly ahead. "So here's the game plan. You're going to take a few lessons and then undergo the recertification process. If you pass, I'm sure Starfleet will see fit to lift the ban." She didn't specify what would happen if he failed. He could fill that one in for himself. 

Slowly, reluctantly, he nodded. "All right." A thought occurred to him. "But do you have time for flying lessons, Captain?" He started envisioning himself and Kathryn in various holodeck scenarios, tucked into the notoriously narrow cockpit of a class II shuttle…perhaps this wouldn't be so bad after all. 

The captain shook her head. "Oh, I'm not going to be handling your instruction, Commander." 

He got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Tuvok?" 

The Vulcan shook his head. "Despite the fact that it would be a logical task for me--" If Vulcans were capable of being peeved, Chakotay thought idly, this is what they might look like, "--but the Captain feels there is someone else aboard this vessel who is more eminently qualified." 

"I know you were an instructor at the Academy, Tuvok," Janeway said gently, "But flight instruction and piloting were not your field of expertise." 

"Then who--" Chakotay started to ask, and then the realization struck him. "No. Absolutely not." 

"He's the best one for this, Chakotay--" 

"_No_. There is no way I am going to take flying lessons from Tom Paris, of all people." Chakotay looked from one implacable face to the other. "You can't be serious, Kathryn! He's crashed almost as many shuttles as I have!" 

"Indeed, it would seem to be an example of the 'blind leading the blind'," put in Tuvok dryly. 

"That's 'blind leading the lame'," corrected Janeway. "And anyway, that's not the case here. Tom is a certified and capable pilot. Starfleet trusts him to sit at the conn position of a starship, don't they?" 

"Can't imagine how that happened," grumbled Chakotay. He knew that once she'd made up her mind, there was no dissuading her. But just because he had no choice didn't mean he had to like it. 

She patted his hand reassuringly. "It will work out fine, Chakotay. You'll see." 

To his credit, Tom's behavior on the holodeck had been entirely circumspect. Once or twice Chakotay thought he caught a hint of amusement in the younger man's eyes as they went through the various simulations, but by neither word nor action had Paris' manner been anything short of respectful. Still, now that he was settling himself into the seat of an actual shuttle for his test flight, Chakotay wasn't going to take anything for granted. 

"OK, Commander," Tom said pleasantly. "Ready when you are. Take us out nice and easy." 

"Watch it, Paris," growled Chakotay. "Not another word." 

"Excuse me?" 

"Next you'll be telling me there's nothing to be nervous about." 

"Well, there isn't," Paris pointed out. "It's just a simple survey mission of the second planet of the nearby system, while Voyager investigates a nebula four light years away." 

"Who said anything about being nervous?" 

"I just assumed--" 

"I am a competent pilot," Chakotay said tersely. "I've done this sort of thing probably hundreds of times before. There's no reason anything should go wrong now." 

"No, no reason at all," muttered Paris. 

"What did you say?" 

"I mean, that's the spirit." 

Chakotay felt his irritation bubble over. "You can drop that condescending attitude, Paris. After all, *you* were once ordered to take remedial lessons by an alien culture who felt you were a hazard in their airspace." 

"All I did was 'buzz' another vessel," returned Paris. "If I recall, you were the one who actually crashed a shuttle on the surface of their planet." 

Chakotay winced. He had done his best to block out that particular episode and hated being reminded of the details. 

"And it's the captain who ordered *your* crash course in shuttle-flying," continued Paris. He chuckled. "Though I hope it doesn't really come to that." 

"Very funny." Chakotay keyed in a sequence on his console. "Opening the shuttle bay doors. Prepare for liftoff." 

"Bridge to shuttle _Titanic_. You are cleared for departure." 

"Thank you. We'll see you in a week, Captain." 

"Good luck." 

Was it his imagination, or was there an extra stress on the last phrase? Chakotay decided to take the expression at face value. "We appreciate the sentiment, _Voyager_. _Titanic _out." 

* * *

The first part of the shuttle journey through space was unremarkable. They followed a simple flight plan away from _Voyager_ and within six hours began their descent into the planet's atmosphere. 

Chakotay kept an eye on the stabilizers and attitude readings as the shuttle skimmed through the upper atmosphere. There were no clouds anywhere, just a limitless expanse of clear green as far as the eye could see. The landing should be a piece of cake. He had just started to relax when suddenly, the shuttle jolted. 

"What the hell was that?" Chakotay said. 

Paris' fingers flew over his controls. "I'm not detecting anything that could cause a bump like that--" his words were cut off as the shuttle pitched again. "Must be clear-air turbulence." 

"Compensating." For a few seconds everything seemed to be all right, and then a klaxon sounded. 

*_Warning. Sink rate is approaching critical_.* 

"I thought you were compensating!" yelled Paris over the sound of the alarm. 

"I was! I am! Damn it, it's not responding!" 

"Let me do that--" Paris lunged in front of him, and stabbed at the console, but his efforts were to no avail. "We're going down!" 

The tops of the trees were visible below them now, looming closer all the time. Chakotay had a brief vision of his father as he'd last seen him, of his animal guide waiting in a clearing, of a whole montage of scenes that came and went too quickly for him to seize on any one in particular. As the ground rushed up to greet them, all the images coalesced into a picture of Kathryn Janeway, the look on her face one of pure fury. He groaned. He couldn't die--she'd certainly kill him for this. 

Paris' thoughts obviously ran along the same lines. "Oh, shit," Chakotay heard him say, before the blackness claimed him. 

* * *

Chakotay came to slowly, aware of nothing but a vast throbbing pain in his head. He opened his eyes, and then shut them again almost immediately. He waited a few seconds and then tried again, this time screwing up his eyes against the onslaught of light. He mentally took a quick inventory. His head felt like hell, his stomach was heaving and his right knee felt like it was on fire. All in all, not too bad for the aftermath of a crash. 

He managed to scramble to his feet, ignoring the protest of his knee, and looked around. There was no sign of Paris. 

"Tom?" he croaked out. 

No response. 

"Paris!" he yelled, louder this time. He stumbled forward. 

A disgruntled blond head poked out from underneath a console, attached to a pair of legs he hadn't noticed before but had somehow avoided tripping over. "What?" 

"I didn't see you down there. Are you were all right?" Chakotay leaned against the chair for support. 

"I'm fine." Paris heaved himself up on one elbow and eyed him speculatively. "Better than you, from all appearances." 

"I'm fine, too," Chakotay said, a bit snappishly. He lifted a hand as Paris started toward him. "I don't need any medical attention." 

Paris halted in mid-step. "If that's the way you feel, I'll just go back and tend to a patient who appreciates me." 

Chakotay carefully lowered himself to the floor and tried to peer around Paris into the bowels of the console. "How bad is it?" 

Paris tapped his hyperspanner reflexively against his palm. "Believe it or not, the damage isn't too extensive." 

"Really?" 

"Yeah, it's surprising considering the circumstances," Paris answered. He laid the tool down on the seat and cracked his knuckles. "Honestly, I think in all likelihood we'll be able to fix this baby ourselves and make it back to Voyager under own power." 

"Thank the gods," breathed Chakotay. The only thing more demeaning than crashing during remedial training was crashing and needing to be rescued. "What about our survey mission?" 

Paris shook his head regretfully. "Sorry. I estimate that it's going to take the better part of the week just to make repairs." 

"I thought you said the damage wasn't bad." 

"But there's still damage." Paris picked up his hyperspanner once more. "You can't expect to come away from this with just a scratch, you know. As it is, the right nacelle is barely holding together and as far as the navigation and comm panels are concerned---" 

"All right, I get the picture," Chakotay said. He sat down heavily as the room swam before his eyes. "Give me a few moments, and then I'll lend you a hand." 

"Sure. Take as much time as you need." 

Chakotay closed his eyes. He must have dozed for a few minutes, as he woke to the sound of a hypospray below his ear. "Hey! What was that?" 

"A combination of stimulants, an anti-inflammatory agent for your knee, and an analgesic for your head," answered Paris, pocketing the medical tricorder. "No sense in being a martyr, Chakotay." He grinned. "The captain isn't around to appreciate your show of bravado." 

The captain. Any retort Chakotay was going to make was cut off by the realization of his predicament. When Janeway heard about this latest shuttle mishap, she was going to be mad. Really, really mad. He groaned. 

Paris put his hand on Chakotay's shoulder. "You know, Commander," he said carefully. "There's really no reason why we have to put this incident into our official logs of the mission." 

"What incident? My being injured in the crash?" 

"Not exactly." Tom hesitated. "I was referring to the crash itself." 

Chakotay looked at him as if he'd gone crazy. "Did you hit _your_ head, Paris? We can't cover up something like this!" 

"Why not?" 

"To begin with, there's the damage to the shuttle--" 

"Easily reparable, I told you already," finished Paris. "No one will be able to tell the difference." 

A wild hope rose in Chakotay's heart, only to be instantly squashed by the reality of their situation. "But what about the planet survey? How are we going to explain not having done it?" 

Paris didn't answer right away. Then, "Who's to say we won't have done it?" 

"No survey report--" Chakotay started to answer. He stopped. "Let me get this straight, Paris. Are you suggesting we submit a fabricated report?" 

"Yes." 

"Make something up? Just like that?" 

"Yes." 

Chakotay considered for a minute. "You realize this is highly irregular, Lieutenant." 

"Yes." 

"Goes against a number of Starfleet regulations." 

"Yes." 

"If the captain finds out, she's going to ream our--she'll throw the book at us." 

"Yes." 

Chakotay sighed. "Think we can get away with it?" 

Paris flashed him a grin. "Just leave it to me, Commander." 

* * *

As the _Titanic _made its final approach toward _Voyager_, Paris leaned over and gave his superior officer a questioning look. "Are you all right, Chakotay? You've been kind of quiet for the last hour." 

Chakotay stared somberly out the viewport. "I can't believe we're doing this, that's all." 

Paris sighed. "Are you saying you've changed your mind and you want to tell the captain the _real_ story of what we've been doing for the past five days?" 

"No, no," said Chakotay hurriedly. "I didn't mean that. It's just," he hesitated, "This just seems so dishonest." He cast about for a metaphor. "Kind of like resetting the odometer on a flitter before selling it, you know?" 

"Oh, thanks for reminding me," Paris said and reached underneath a console. "I almost forgot." He settled back into his seat with a satisfied nod. "There. Now _all_ the instruments support our new and improved mission logs." 

* * *

"Would you like a refill?" Janeway asked, her hand poised over the bottle of cider. 

"No thanks," Chakotay answered, and smiled at her. It was so good to be back. "I've had my quota for the day." 

"I think I've had enough as well," she said, and came back to the couch. She settled herself against him with a sigh of contentment. "I missed you while you were gone." 

He tightened his arm around her and brushed his lips against the top of her head. "I missed you, too." 

She lifted up a padd that he hadn't noticed lying next to her. "Well, it certainly seems like you had a good time, at least." 

"What do you mean?" he asked, suddenly nervous. 

"Your report of the planet survey. It makes for fascinating reading." 

"It does?" 

"Certainly." She scrolled down partway. "The crystal caves you found in the southern hemisphere's largest continent on day three, for example. Or the rain forests and the exotic avian lifeforms to the north…" She sighed again. "Makes me wish I could have been there with you." 

"I wish you would've been there, too," he said, taking the padd from her and flipping it casually onto the floor. He traced the angle of her jaw, lifted her chin and kissed her. "I'd rather spend time with you than with Paris." 

She returned his kiss. He bent her back against the couch and kissed her cheek, her lips, then moved to the hollow at the base of her throat. All of a sudden, she stiffened. He looked at her questioningly. "Kathryn? Is something wrong?" 

"I just had the best idea," she said, excitement growing in her voice. "We've been making pretty good time with our mission--maybe we can afford to take a few extra days and visit the planet." 

"You mean bring the ship there?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. Tom Paris was a dead man. 

"Of course. It sounds like a perfect place for shore leave." She smiled at him seductively. "And you can personally show me all those wonderful sights." 

He could feel the sweat starting to bead on his forehead. "Um, I'm not so sure that's such a good idea, Kathryn." 

"Why not?" 

"Oh, because…just because we're making good time now, doesn't mean we won't need this extra time later on. We're only two months into an 18 month mission after all." He held his breath. If he was going to die, he was going to take Paris with him. 

Janeway didn't look convinced. "I appreciate our time constraints, but still--" 

He pulled her closer once more. "And besides, you know how it is…someone describes something as being really incredible and somebody else then views it and has an entirely different opinion." 

"I trust your judgment, Chakotay," she said with a laugh. "I'm sure it's just as lovely as you've said." 

"And sometimes, things are just too…transitory," he murmured in her ear. "Or too fragile to last. You come back and find they've changed and aren't the same as you remember them. All it takes is a rockslide, or a bad storm…" 

"I suppose." She shivered as his fingers slowly ran down her side. "Your data on the planet's weather patterns does seem to indicate a proclivity to sudden severe turbulence." A soft moan escaped her. "You're right, Chakotay. All things considered, I guess it wouldn't be a good idea to go there now." 

He bit back a sigh of relief. "I'm glad you're not too disappointed, Kathryn." 

"It's all right," she said. "We can always go there on our way back." 

_FINIS_

  
  


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